


Within Wheels

by Wagontrain



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-03
Updated: 2010-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-09 21:49:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wagontrain/pseuds/Wagontrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaina Proudmoore struggles to keep her allegiance and the allegiance of Theramore balanced on the knife's edge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The "Machinations" series was planned and written before the World of Warcraft 3.3 patch, resulting in differences in the specifics of the Lich King's defeat between game canon and the story.

A dozen ghouls crept down slope of the Hellfire Peninsula. A semi-circle of Argent Crusade paladins and Ebon Blade death knights surrounded the procession, warding off the malevolent attentions of the Burning Legion demons that infested the peninsula. Each ghoul helped to bear their unholy load: the runeblade, Frostmourne.

Two men watched the ghouls with morbid focus. "Can you hear it?" Tirion Fordring asked, flexing his fingers around the hilt of the Ashbringer. "It…whispers."

Beside him, Darion Mograine nodded his massive armored head. "Frostmourne knows its time is done. It grows desperate." He glanced at the paladin. "Pay it no mind, Fordring. The ghouls who carry it are mindless and deaf to its call."

The first ghoul reached the edge of the world and stepped off without hesitation. The others followed, lemming-like, and Frostmourne's whispers became desperate shrieks, then faded as the runeblade tumbled into the Twisting Nether.

"It is done," Mograine intoned, gesturing for his death knights to assemble.

"The end of this epoch. Of this threat." Fordring shook himself as the death knights opened a portal back to Ebon Hold. "There are other storms coming, and our two armies will have no way to save the world from itself."

Mograine paused at the threshold of the portal. "Our war was to destroy the Scourge, not to 'save the world,'" he rumbled. "If the Horde and Alliance choose to squander the opportunities presented by the elimination of Arthas"—he pointed out to the Twisting Nether—"the void take them, too."

*

"Thank you for allowing me to come, Father," Anduin Wrynn said, trotting to keep up with his king's long stride.

"You've learned lessons about ruling Stormwind in my absence," Varian Wrynn said, tousling the boy's hair. "But to truly ensure what is best for our people, a king must take…broader measures."

"I will never allow the Defias, or Lady Prestor, or any of their kind to trouble our people again."

Wrynn stopped before the massive doors of the council chambers. "I'm not speaking of our enemies, Anduin. Take your seat in the gallery, and listen." With that, Wrynn pushed through the doors and let his gaze pierce each of the individuals seated around the stone table. The ancient demon. The willful, bearded runt. The rail-thin, tattooed heretic. The ridiculous, cog-obsessed fool.

The witch.

"The Lich King is destroyed," Wrynn declared, pointing to where the iconic helm lay between them all. "Now is the time to turn our attention inward."

"Inward," Tyrande Whisperwind repeated. Her silver eyes flashed. "The Horde continues its operations in Ashenvale Forest. I don't feel I should have to remind you that the kaldorei agreement to aid the lesser races in this Alliance is contingent on _your_ promise of mutual defense."

"And what about Gnomeregan?" squeaked Mekkatorque, adjusting his mechanized chair to lean toward Wrynn. "The Gnomeregan Reclamation and National Defense Army has been able to entice adventures to make extensive forays into Gnomeregan, but without substantial material intervention by the other members of this august body, we will never be able to gain a foothold against the troggs, let alone take back our home!"

Magni Bronzebeard harrumphed. "Ye may have more success if ye were t' speak plainly."

"Enough!" Wrynn barked. Mekkatorque's chair rocked back and Whisperwind cocked a single elongated eyebrow. With effort, Wrynn mastered his tone. "Your concerns have merit, without question. Both the night elves and the gnomes have been invaluable members of the Alliance. But we cannot effectively engage the enemies arrayed against us until we have engaged the enemy within." His gaze settled on Jaina Proudmoore.

"If you've something to say, Varian, then say it."

Whisperwind sneered dangerously. "Your dalliance with Arthas suggests a lack of judgment. It was well within your power to stop Arthas as early as the atrocity at Stratholme. How many of your people died for your inaction?"  
"I was unaware that a lack of romantic clairvoyance was a crime, your reverence," Proudmoore shot back. "Should we hold council over your own entanglements with the brothers Stormrage?"

Whisperwind bristled, but Wrynn's firm voice reclaimed the conversation. "Proudmoore's past indiscretions are less concerning than her current ones. Time and time again she has sided with the orcs against her own people. The neutrality you have forced on Theramore has allowed the Horde to run rampant over southern Kalimdor."

"_Listen_ to me," Proudmoore said, holding her palms open in entreaty to the Alliance leaders. "Our nations do not benefit from aggression with the Horde. Extremists like Garrosh Hellscream and even elements of the Alliance leadership"—her gaze flicked significantly toward Wrynn and Whisperwind—"only serve to further destabilize the situation, to the betterment of no one. Warchief Thrall works tirelessly to suppress the more violent elements of the Horde, like Hellscream's Warsong Clan, the tauren Grimtotem, and rogue apothecaries."

"Cannae see how he's been successful at that, lass," Bronzebeard said. "Not after the Wrathgate."

"Thrall has been unwilling to manage his own ranks, as the horrors I found in the Undercity abundantly proved." Wrynn began to circle the table towards the mage. "You, however, acted against me and prevented my efforts to bring the warchief and the corpse-queen to justice."

"I was trying to prevent an outright war."

"A war that perhaps needs to take place, especially if the Horde endorses such tortures," Wrynn shot back. "Can I even ask you to understand that, Proudmoore? You stood aside and allowed these beasts to murder your own father."

"Don't pretend to lecture me about that," Proudmoore whispered coldly. "My father chose his path, just as he chose to not only attack our allies but to overthrow my government in the process. But don't delude yourself into believing that it was what I wanted…or that it was _easy_."

"Of course. Asking you to stand with your people against savages would be too much."

"King Wrynn," Velen interrupted, his soft voice cutting through the rancor building between the humans, "I implore you not to allow your anger to make you short-sighted."

"Short sight is all I need when the enemy is so close," Wrynn growled. He loomed over Proudmoore; the air around her snapped as defensive spells flared to life. "Tell me, Jaina. Do you think about Thrall when you touch yourself? Do you moan his name when you whore yourself to him?"

Proudmoore squared her shoulders against Wrynn's inquisition. "You're an animal, Varian."

Wrynn snorted and turned back to the assembled leaders of the Alliance. "What I propose is this. Theramore is ideally situated to provide pressure against the Horde bases of Camp Taurajo, the Crossroads, Ghostwalker Post, Brackenwall Village, Freewind Post, and Camp Mojache. Such pressure would force the Horde to split their resources away from Ashenvale, allowing your Sentinels"—he gestured to Whisperwind—"to retake what you have lost."

"What about Gnomeregan?" Mekkatorque queried.

Wrynn scowled. "Later."

Whisperwind nodded. "I believe that would be an acceptable solution."

"No solution that uses Theramore as a base for military strikes is acceptable," Proudmoore retorted. "I founded Theramore with a promise of neutrality and common ground between the Alliance and the Horde."

"Then perhaps Theramore would benefit from more tractable leadership," Whisperwind suggested.

Proudmoore looked at the other woman. "I stood with you at Hyjal," she said simply.

"And now you stand against me, human," was Tyrande's easy response.

"Stormwind will send troops to Theramore with the intention of stabilizing the port for use by the Alliance," Wrynn declared to the other leaders. "I ask for your assistance."

"I will send several groups of Sentinels," Whisperwind answered immediately.

"Ironforge will honor its commitments to Stormwind."

"I am willing to lend elements of the Gnomeregan Reclamation and National Defense Army to this venture, but with the provision that we reconvene soon after for the purposes of—"

"Yes or no, gnome."

Mekkatorque's frown lowered his bushy eyebrows over his goggles. "Yes. With conditions."

Wrynn shrugged and turned to Velen. "Well?"

The ancient draenei shifted in his chair to face Wrynn. "I cannot forbid my people from participating," he said at length. "But I will not endorse this action."

Proudmoore hefted the Lich King's frost-crusted helm and stepped back from the table. "Everything I have done has been for my people," she said, the glow of her teleportation spell wreathing her body. "And I will defend Theramore with my life."

*

"Captain Bloodfist reports der be no incidents in de Undercity," Vol'jin reported. He stood in Grommash Hold, at the foot of Warchief Thrall. "Sylvanas keeps claimin' ignorance of Putress an' Varimathras' plans, but…"

"If Lady Windrunner says she was caught unawares, then I believe it to be unfortunate but true," Ambassador Dawnsinger interrupted. The blood elf's regal appearance contrasted sharply with the brutal simplicity of the other advisors in the chamber, though her poise seemed to suggest that she expected the stonework to conform to her in order to remove the inconsistency.

"Issues of Sylvanas' ignorance are secondary," Thrall announced from his throne. "Order the Kor'kron to remain vigilant." He turned to his left, where Garrosh Hellscream stood with obvious restlessness. "And you, young Hellscream. How fairs the troop drawdown from Northrend?"

Frustration and irritation flickered in Hellscream's eyes. "As ordered, we have ceased combat operations and are consolidating our control in the regions of Warsong Hold, Conquest Hold, Vengeance Landing, and Agmar's Hammer. I have sent permanent envoys to the Kirin Tor, Wyrmrest Accord, free Nerubians and…Tuskarr." He spat, splashing spittle across the rough stone floor. "As you commanded."

"Now is the time to build relationships, Garrosh. But what news of Icecrown Glacier? How has the cleanup against the Scourge faired since the fall of the Lich King?"

"I am unable to comment, Warchief, since you commanded that such operations be left in the hands of the Argent Crusade and Ebon Knights," Garrosh replied with feigned civility.

Abruptly, the air hummed and Jaina Proudmoore appeared in the center of the chamber. Hellscream and the Kor'kron guards drew their weapons, but Thrall's bellow stopped them short.

"Lady Proudmoore," he said warningly. "Such sudden arrivals can be unsettling." The warchief rose from his throne and stepped down to take Jaina's hand.

"I'm sorry, Thrall." She turned to Hellscream and offered a bow of supplication. "I didn't mean to cause alarm."  
The young orc's eyes slitted, but he allowed his axes to fall to his sides.

"King Wrynn has decided to put Theramore directly under Stormwind's control," Proudmoore said. "He feels my neutrality is a liability."

Thrall frowned. "That…that must not happen. You are far too valuable as an intermediary."

"What are you suggesting?" Hellscream demanded, fists tightening on his axes. "Should we line up our forces to fight this pathetic woman's battle? This is a mockery!"

Turning to Garrosh, Thrall snapped, "Lady Proudmoore is an emissary of peace between our peoples."

"To hell with your peace! This woman weakens you, Thrall. You require me to serve you as a general? Fine! I will remove this blond-haired thorn from the side of the Horde war machine!" Hellscream hefted his ax and pointed it squarely at the mage. "Proudmoore! Let Wrynn come. He will find only the smoking remains of Theramore and your ruined corpse! Blood and glory!"

Hellscream slammed his way out of the chamber, leaving Thrall's advisors quiet in his wake.

"He and Varian really do deserve each other," Jaina muttered.

"Though I'm hesitant to agree with Hellscream, he has a point," Dawnsinger said. "Intervention by the Horde on Theramore's behalf will only provoke a harsher response from the Alliance…which you sought to avoid."

"This is my fight, Thrall," Proudmoore agreed, nodding solemnly. "I won't allow this to destroy the work we've done."


	2. Chapter 2

"This is quite ridiculous, dearie," Aegwynn commented, watching as Jaina Proudmoore bustled around her study collecting tomes and parchments. With a gesture she opened a portal and unceremoniously dropped the documents through. "If this crazed orc is coming, you'd be well advised to be somewhere else entirely. Let him and the Alliance squabble on their own, you have greater issues to deal with." The former Guardian peered at the portal. "Where does that even go?"

"Somewhere safe," Proudmoore replied tersely, shoving the bundle of her distinctive white and violet gown through. "Running isn't an option, Aegwynn. If I run now…it's over. I'm only effective as a bridge between the Alliance and the Horde if I'm here. Without me, all of our work is wasted. Besides"—she smiled—"I've faced down worse than Garrosh Hellscream."

"Lady Proudmoore!" Feet pounded up the stairs of the mage tower, preceding the appearance of one of Theramore's footmen. "Our watchers have sighted an approaching enemy force!"

Proudmoore nodded. "Make sure all the civilians are in the shelters. Any remaining staff and soldiers are to stay out of the way. Garrosh wants me—"

"My lady, no!" The footman shook his head emphatically, causing his visor to drop over his eyes. "It's not a Horde force we've sighted, but an Alliance flotilla from the sea!"

"_What?_" Her calm abandoned, Proudmoore rushed to the eastward-facing windows. Sure enough, several Alliance cruisers were settling into blockade positions around Theramore harbor. "Varian," she muttered. "I underestimated you. I thought it would take you at least another four days to launch a force large enough to challenge Theramore."

Aegwynn looked past Proudmoore's shoulder with an amusedly perplexed expression on her face. She snapped her fingers and a very surprised night elf woman shimmered into immobile visibility, poisoned dagger poised at Jaina's back. "You didn't think you'd just sneak up on her, did you, dearie?"

"Change of plans!" With a thoughtless gesture Proudmoore teleported the elf to the lead Alliance ship. She pointed to the footman. "Evacuate all of our military assets from the docks and common areas. Arrange them defensively around the civilian shelters. Find and expel any Horde citizens still on the island. No exceptions! Aegwynn, I need you to stay with the civilians and keep them safe. This will blow over soon enough, but I need you to be here to take over in case something should happen to me."

"My lady, if the Alliance wishes to harm you they'll find our marines ready to stop them!" the footman cried. "You led us in the exodus from Lordaeron, and we'll not abandon you now!"

"I appreciate your loyalty, but this is…this is necessary." Proudmoore patted the man's shoulder reassuringly.  
"Your nobility is going to your head, dear," Aegwynn commented drily.

Proudmoore didn't hear her, looking out at the sieging armada. "Thrall…"

*

"The big problem we've got is the Bloodsail Buccaneers and Alliance privateers," squawked Wharfmaster Dizzywig. "The Steamweedle Cartel is losing about fifteen percent of our profits to them, but that number has gone down since you offered to send escorts for our ships while in Horde waters."

"The goblins have always been valuable allies," Thrall responded, bowing slightly to the much-shorter goblin. "Defending your shipping only benefits the Horde." The swift clatter of a raptor drew his attention, and Thrall turned to see Vol'jin riding down the path into Ratchet.

"'ail, Thrall," the troll waved, reining his raptor to a halt. "I been runnin' all over looking for you. I got news, an' I t'ink you wanna be hearin' dis in person."

"What news, old friend?"

"Well, you be wantin' de bad news first, or de worse news? I got even worst news, too." Dizzywig's ears perked up and he made a show of unobtrusively examining his ship's inventory. "Cairne sent word from de T'under Bluff. Dat Magana, she done made a play. De Grimtotems are takin' more authority amongst de tauren an' Grimtotem members are takin' leadership positions in a number o' tauren outposts. Sun Rock Retreat, Ghost Walka Post, and de like."

"Outposts in contested territory," Thrall all but groaned. "That will cause difficulties later on. Next?"

"De Alliance done attacked Theramore, right dis minute."

That news brought Thrall short. "That is unexpected," he said eventually.

"Archmage Proudmoore done kicked out a number o' blood elves who been studyin' wit' her mages an' a tauren an' a troll who were settin' up a trade agreement." Vol'jin straightened the feathers on his raptor's harness.

Thrall nodded, thinking. "Her message is clear, then. She's decided her neutrality must become isolationism."

"I don' t'ink dey make a more obvious 'back off' den dat," Vol'jin agreed. "Dey last t'ing? Garrosh done gone taken a hike. He gathered some allies and left Orgrimmar headin' t' parts unknown."

"He defies me!" Thrall bellowed, raising his fists to the sky. The ground under Ratchet rumbled ominously, and Dizzywig danced from foot to foot until the tremors subsided. "He is as was his father. Hellscream and his forces are beyond the control of the Horde." Thrall sighed mightily. "Vol'jin. I would ask a favor of you." The troll looked down at him quizzically. "Find Garrosh. Set him back on the…on the right path."

Forgotten on the dock, Dizzywig made a note on his clipboard.

*

Theramore had never been so quiet.

Jaina Proudmoore walked slowly towards the docks, her staff held loosely in her hands. She missed the bustle of the marketplace. It was hard living on the frontier as her people did, but they managed to find the joy of life even in the worst of circumstances. They had survived the flight from the Scourge in Lordaeron, and they would survive Wrynn and his stubborn rage.

Proudmoore would guarantee it.

She stopped where the dock jutted out into the sea. A hundred feet out, an Alliance cutter had cast down lines. Several soldiers disembarked as she watched.

"Theramore is a sovereign nation," she announced, projecting her voice over the whipping sea wind. "If you come in peace, welcome. If not, I ask you to leave now."

A human man—somehow, she had known Wrynn would send a human man—stepped forward and shouted back, "Jaina Proudmoore! King Wrynn has declared Theramore to be Alliance territory, and that you will come with us. We've no quarrel with the people of Theramore, and they will be allowed to continue their lives unmolested. What do you say?"  
Proudmoore's eyes flicked down to the shimmer of movement under the water. Shaking her head, she unleashed a flash of utter cold, freezing the water for twenty feet around herself and catching the two seal-form druids attempting to sneak behind her. The soldiers near the cutter broke into a run towards her, and Jaina twisted the flows of magic around the wooden pier, igniting it.

For a moment, the Alliance forces were in disarray, and Proudmoore worried that she had pushed too hard, too fast. The fear only lasted a moment as a gnome blinked into existence in front of her, arcane energies flaring around his hands. "I'm an archmage," she reminded him under her breath as she seized hold of his command of magic and sequestered it. It was a cruel trick that the Kirin Tor sometimes used to discipline wayward apprentices, but it would serve to keep the gnome out of the battle.

The satisfaction was doused as the clip-clop of draenei hooves on the flaming wood heralded a charging paladin cloaked in holy invincibility, maul drawn back to strike. Proudmoore twisted away, focusing her will on a blink spell—  
The maul caught her square in the belly, lifting her off her feet and crushing her into the turf. Proudmoore tried to cry out but vomited blood instead. Again she tried to summon a spell, but a blow below her ribs silenced the attempt.  
"Snuck up on you this time, _dearie_," the night elf snarled. Dumbly, Proudmoore struggled to clear her vision only to find the rogue leering down at her while the draenei woman hefted her maul for another blow.

Proudmoore gathered the magic around herself and expelled it in an explosion, knocking the other women to the ground. Proudmoore took to her feet and staggered towards the blacksmith's in a desperate bid to get away. She did not see the dwarf raise his rifle and sight along its length. She did not hear the crack as he fired. She did not feel the bullet ricochet off the side of her skull.

The blackness of unconsciousness took her.

 

*

It occurred to Hellscream that the Undercity smelled no different than any of the Scourge bases he had assaulted. The same stench of death, sulfur and bile filled his nostrils, and it took effort not to snap at the Forsaken leading Hellscream and his retinue down the curving, slowly descending hallway.

"My lady," the dreadguard grated, "Garrosh Hellscream of the Horde."

"Fah!" Hellscream snarled. "Thrall's leadership sullies the Horde's honor. For now, my warriors and I," he gestured to the assortment of orcs, tauren, trolls, Forsaken and blood elves behind him, "are the Warsong Splinter."

"Really." Sylvanas Windrunner stood regal and proud on her dais, her gaze glancing disinterestedly over each of Hellscream's allies. "You've never visited my city before, Hellscream. What brings you here now?"

"Mutual opportunities," Hellscream said, climbing the stairs to Windrunner's dais. Captain Bloodfist scowled, but backed away as Hellscream approached. "I seek to bring the Horde glory in combat. The other leaders of the Horde are obsessed with their philosophy and peace. Thrall has forgotten that he is the _war_chief. I would challenge him, but I need more forces at my side to do so."

"And?" Sylvanas' strangely resonant voice conveyed simultaneous boredom and contempt.

Hellscream leaned close, trying to both intimidate the once-elf and give a sense of intimate confidence. A look from her unholy crimson eyes, however, and the orc stopped short. Recovering himself, he said, "I've seen the vigor and fury of your Forsaken against the Lich King. You seek, as I do, to dominate and subjugate others. The Alliance most of all." Windrunner said nothing, and Hellscream pressed, "Because of Putress you are reviled and suspected." He pointed a meaty finger at Bloodfist. "Thrall has drawn his leash on you tight, and he will never allow it to slacken. I offer you an alternative. Destroy your enemies using whatever means you wish, at my side…as my equal."

A faint smile crossed Windrunner's lips at that last. "Do you not think Thrall will hear of this, would-be warchief? As you've suggested, his agents are everywhere."

"Let him know!" Hellscream bellowed, his voice reverberating off the walls of the royal quarter. "He is so lovesick and obsessed with his human woman that he would have us protect her…" Garrosh trailed off as Windrunner jerked minutely, then seemed to convulse. The dreadguards stepped out of their alcoves, concern etched on their dead faces when Windrunner made a sound.

She laughed.

"You mock me?" Hellscream demanded dangerously.

Windrunner resumed her calm demeanor, though an air of amused condescension lingered. "I would not dare. I realized that I…misconstrued the situation. No, Hellscream. I will not join you. And neither"—her voice rose, and her gaze settled on the Forsaken in Hellscream's retinue—"will any of my Forsaken. This is a matter between you and Thrall, and we gain nothing by becoming engaged."

"I offer you power!" Hellscream raged, towering over her and this time not caring about her unholy aura. The sound of the dreadguards' weapons being drawn, however, stymied his fury.

"I have that," Windrunner replied.

Hellscream turned away from her and paced to the edge of the dais. "You!" he bellowed, pointing to the Forsaken general in command of the battle in the Arathi Basin. "I offer you might. Join me!"

The Forsaken turned mutely from Hellscream to Windrunner, who watched the display detachedly. For a long moment Hellscream thought perhaps the undead's brain had rotted beyond apprehending, but then the Forsaken's long, slow bow to Windrunner made his meaning clear. She acknowledged his devotion with a simple inclination of her chin.

"Feh!" Hellscream spat again and thundered out of the royal quarter. His followers—except the Forsaken—scrambled to follow. They left the Undercity proper only to be stopped in the ruined courtyard by a familiar figure.

"Vol'jin," Hellscream scowled, slowing to a stop before the elderly troll. "I'm in no mood for Thrall's lackeys."

"I give you dat, mon. Thrall did send me to set you straight. But him an' me…we of two different minds on dis matter."  
Hellscream folded his massive arms. "I'm listening."

"Thrall is soft on de Proudmoore woman." Hellscream began to interrupt, but Vol'jin cut him off with a swipe of his walking stick. "More den you know, an' don' you say ot'erwise. I know when she comes t' Orgrimmar an' when she goes from Orgrimmar. An' I know sometimes she come for de evenin' an' stay for de mornin', if you take my meaning."

"That's disgusting," Hellscream muttered. "Human women are so…fragile."

"I do my level best no' t' t'ink about it." Vol'jin agreed. "While ago, t'ough…Daddy Proudmoore done attack Durotar, an' the first place he hit was de Echo Isles. Thrall made the same noise then about 'protectin' de peace' he be makin' now. An' while he out tryin' to impress dis girl how high-minded he is, my islands burn. My people die." Vol'jin shook his head. "We got a nice place for ourselves now. I got no interest in losin' in so's that Thrall can keep his human."

Hellscream nodded. "I understand that. Will you join me, Vol'jin of the Darkspears?"

"I will do dis t'ing." Vol'jin grinned, his tusks giving him a wicked air.

"Then march with us. We go to speak with the blood elves, to secure their allegiance." Vol'jin chuckled, and Hellscream's expression clouded. "I've been laughed at once today."

"No offence meant." Vol'jin leaned on his staff. "I jus' don' know why you be wantin' t' do t'ings de hard way."

"Thrall is a fool, but his forces are not inconsiderable—"

"Stop wit' de first part," interrupted Vol'jin. "You waste time t'inkin' about de Kor'kron an' de blood elves an' whoever else. You talkin' about attackin' de warchief, I be talkin' about attackin' de man. What started all dis?"

Hellscream frowned, understanding dawning on him. "Jaina Proudmoore."

"We find de woman an' we drag her in fron' o' Thrall. He _watch_ her die. He die a little himself. _Den_ you make your move." Vol'jin grinned. "Maybe we find a timber t' put her head up on, just like Onyxia, no?"

A deep laugh began in Hellscream's gut, and his roar echoed off the courtyard walls. "Well done, Vol'jin. Blood and thunder indeed."

Vol'jin clapped Hellscream on the arm. "You gonna make warchief yet, mon." Fires of dark voodoo danced in his eyes. "Right after we kill Jaina Proudmoore."


	3. Chapter 3

Jaina Proudmoore awoke with a start.

The analytical portion of her brain began processing immediately, examining what her senses told her. Constriction, for one. She could feel cold metal—mithril, she guessed by its weight—firm around her wrists and ankles, pulling her arms harshly behind her.

The hair at her temple was matted. Combined with her throbbing skull, she deduced a headwound. The smell of the ocean and the chatter of jungle birds suggested a location. When she opened her eyes the night elf architecture confirmed it: Feathermoon Stronghold, the only Alliance base in southern Kalimdor.

"Oh, good, you've come back." Proudmoore craned her neck to see a human woman sitting in the chair that was the room's only furniture. Her cowl and mask were gathered around her neck, but the distinctive leather robes and spiked pauldrons identified her alignment quite readily. "I was afraid you weren't going to wake up, and this fortuitous coincidence would be lost to me."

"Who are you?" Proudmoore asked.

"No one important." The other woman paged through a grimoire with feigned disinterest. "Just an adventurer who offered to guard a prisoner until her transfer to Stormwind for trial." Proudmoore tested the chains that held her in place, but found them unforgiving. "My brother was an Alliance scout, you know." The woman continued at length. "He was sent north to investigate the Forsaken dispositions around Brill and disappeared. His superiors assumed he was killed."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Proudmoore replied. "I know what it's like to lose family."

"Of course." A strained smile ghosted across the other woman's face. "But after King Wrynn's raid on the Undercity, and the news of the tortures visited on Alliance prisoners by the apothecaries…" She shook her head. "I know my brother is dead. But how he died is a sequence of images I can't get out of my mind." A real smile, a genuine expression of pleasure shone on the woman's face. "So when I heard that you, the mage who _defended_ the Forsaken from justice, were here…I couldn't resist. The king ordered that no one lay a finger on you, but I chose to interpret that as a challenge."

Proudmoore felt the warlock pulling at the threads of her soul, snarling into a curse. She gathered a spell to smooth the tangle, only to feel her spell shatter before her. Movement to her left drew her eye to a beast curled in the corner, its tendrils seeking blindly for her while its mouth gaped in a needle-toothed grin.

"I neglected to introduce you," the woman said. "His name is Kreejhorn. He's here to minimize difficulties." The curse set in, and Proudmoore felt an incessant itching under her arms. In seconds the itch became pain and then agony. Proudmoore grunted, trying to suppress the sensation.

"My brother is dead." The woman leaned down, watching Proudmoore's expression contort. "But you…you're right here."

*

"She's in there, mon."

Hellscream's small force crouched on the shores of Feathermoon Stronghold, examining the structures. "Impressively defended, for elves." Hellscream turned to his followers. "Draw their attention. Spill their blood. But remember that our mission is for a greater glory. We will abandon the elves to their confusion once we have Proudmoore." His forces scattered, seeking out Feathermoon's defenders.

The sounds of battle erupted, and Hellscream and Vol'jin crept towards the small house just outside of the Stronghold proper. They heard voices; Vol'jin motioned his companion to silence, but the orc snorted derisively and kicked in the door. Inside, Proudmoore struggled desperately against her restraints, though whether she was attempting to flee imagined phantoms or the warlock before her was unclear. The warlock whirled as the door splintered and pointed a single finger at Hellscream, repeating her spell.

"Fea—"

Hellscream's axe buried itself in her face, cutting off the invocation. The felhound leapt at him from the corner, only to be transformed into a frog and quickly smashed by Vol'jin. Hellscream absent-mindedly tugged the axe free as he stood over Proudmoore, nose wrinkling at her terror. "This is Thrall's plaything?"

"She not be herself," Vol'jin said, searching through his pouches. He drew out a bag of fine dust and sprinkled it over her, muttering, "Calm y' self, Lady Proudmoore."

Instantly Proudmoore regained her composure, gasping for breath. "Vol'jin? By the Light, even knowing it was a spell I couldn't resis—" She was cut off as Hellscream's massive hand closed on her shoulder, hefting her to his eye level.

"Think of this as a reprieve, 'my lady,'" Hellscream sneered. "I've a better use for your life than wasting away in the Stormwind Vault—" Hellscream's threat was cut off by his cry of rage and surprise as a trio of arrowheads erupted from his chest. He dropped Proudmoore and fell to his knees, twisting to see the threat behind him.   
"General Feat'ermoon," Vol'jin said, sketching a bow to the night elf. "Been wonderin' if you'd see why we were here."  
"The high priestess suspected your kind would mount a rescue," Feathermoon replied, notching another arrow and letting fly into Hellscream's belly.

"_Rescue_?!" Hellscream bellowed, pain forgotten in his anger. He crashed his axes together and charged Feathermoon. "The human _will_ die, and it will be at the time of _my_ choosing!" Hellscream struck hard, but the elf leapt nimbly back and launched another arrow into his shoulder.

Clots of dirt and grass flew as Hellscream chased after Feathermoon. His axes cleaved rock, masonry, and trees but always she stayed ahead, slamming arrows into the orc with relentless precision. Each blow only furthered Hellscream's rage, but Feathermoon's sadistic sneer and Hellscream's faltering steps were telling.

"Dis be a pretty mess," Vol'jin muttered, watching the fighters dance. Rummaging through his bag, he produced a small ward and tossed it at the feet of the combatants. With a flash and a crack, Feathermoon fell, stunned insensible. Hellscream roared in victory, both axes raised for a killing blow when Vol'jin shouted, "Hold, Hellscream! We gotta mission here. Save de elf for another time."

The orc seethed, but stayed his hand. He tilted back his head and let out a roar that could be heard across the island, then said tightly, "We ride north."

*

Though Hellscream wanted to make directly for Orgrimmar, Vol'jin saw that their forces were wounded from the battle with the night elves, and persuaded Hellscream to stop and regroup: "Still a long haul to Orgrimmar, mon, an' your forces gonna need to be in good shape when we get there."

"Welcome, Garrosh," Ravak Grimtotem rumbled. "On the behalf of my great-aunt Magatha I welcome you to Ghost Walker Post."

Hellscream eyed the tauren warily. He recognized his own contempt reflected in the other man, and the invocation of the Elder Crone's name gave him pause. His respect for and fear of the scheming matriarch was fleeting, however. "My troops require provisioning and rest. Can I count the Grimtotem among my allies?"

"At the word of Magatha, you may." The garrison of Ghost Walker Post had been replaced entirely by Grimtotems, and at Ravak's command they opened their supplies to Hellscream's exhausted forces.

"So this is the human who would make peace?" Ravak asked. He lifted Proudmoore off the back of Hellscream's war wolf. The pervasive dust of Desolace had mixed with her sweat, caking her in grime and ruining her robe. "I thought she'd be livelier."

"'Make peace,'" Hellscream mocked. "It is through her that I will secure my ascension as warchief."  
"Garrosh…" Proudmoore said lowly, "…that will…never happen."

The orc grinned at her defiance. He opened his mouth to reply and he realized that he could see his breath frosting before him. "What…Vol'jin! Her powers are free!" In a heartbeat, the temperature dropped well below freezing, rime rising on every surface.

"Not too su'prisin', since de only t'ing keepin' her down been dat warlock," Vol'jin answered, revealing a ward from his bag and placing it between himself and Hellscream.

Fire erupted around Proudmoore, vaporizing the ice. With a shriek, all of Ghost Walker Post was enveloped in a pillar of flame so intense it scoured the ground down to bedrock as far out as the kodo graveyard.

The roar of the fire faded as suddenly as it came, revealing only Vol'jin, Proudmoore, and the astonished Hellscream. Vol'jin walked to the bound human, stepping tenderly over the seared ground. Rummaging through his sack, he found a tiny shrunken head—complete with suspiciously realistic pink pig tails—and shook it over the locks of Proudmoore's shackles as he chanted.

"Da warchief sends his regards, Lady Proudmoore." The manacles released, and Jaina groaned as her abused limbs were allowed to stretch for the first time in days. She rolled onto her side, slowly flexing her arms and legs.

Hellscream gaped at Ravak's blackened skeleton. "What…what is the _meaning_—"

"Shut up, boy. I only know ya father a lil' bit, but I knew he at least had some sense." Vol'jin pulled one last item from his satchel: a familiar bundle of white and violet.

Proudmoore sat up and stood slowly. "Thank you, Vol'jin." Shedding her soiled robes with as much dignity as she could muster, Jaina dressed herself quickly. "I've business back in Theramore."

"Ain't one to tell you how to manage y' affairs," Vol'jin said, "but maybe you oughta take a day or two off, no?"  
Proudmoore's only response was the words of her teleportation spell.

*

"The night elf losses at Feathermoon Stronghold were minimal, which led us to believe that the attack was an attempt to recover Proudmoore." Mathias Shaw followed his king through the grand main hall of Stormwind Keep, strapping down the irritation he felt that Wrynn refused to look at him. "SI:7's information suggests a different story. The attack was lead by Garrosh Hellscream"—he was interrupted by the king's snort—"who, our resources in Ratchet report, has gone rogue from the Horde proper. That, along with comments he made during the skirmish, lead us to believe that he kidnapped Proudmoore as part of a powerplay against the warchief."

"Even Thrall can't keep his animals in line," Wrynn said dismissively.

"As you say," Shaw replied. "We tracked the forces that kidnapped Proudmoore to Ghost Walker Post, which our informants at Nijal's Point report was compl—_baaaaaa!_"

Wrynn whirled around as Shaw disappeared in a puff of smoke, replaced by an extremely surprised-looking sheep. Around him, the guards of the keep were all similarly reduced.

"Varian. I would have words with you."

Jaina Proudmoore stood strong and firm between Wrynn and his throne. If a small quiver betrayed the stress required to keep the pose, Wrynn didn't notice.

"Proudmoore," the king rumbled. "Return my entourage."

"I prefer them as they are." Proudmoore descended to meet Wrynn. "You had me kidnapped."

"I did." Wrynn's tone held no regret. "I've better uses for Theramore than a refuge for pacifists. But tell me, how did you find the hospitality of your Horde friends?"

"Master Shaw was about to tell you that Ghost Walker Post is gone. I obliterated it." Proudmoore crossed her arms and stared Wrynn down. "Garrosh is gone beyond Thrall's control. As long as he's running around, I don't know how effective my overtures of peace will be."

"You can't negotiate with a rabid animal, Jaina."

"I'm not done trying," she snapped. "This endless war doesn't help us, Varian."

"But…?"

Proudmoore looked away. "For the meantime…until Hellscream is reined in…I can't work with the Horde."  
Wrynn stepped around her, seating himself on his throne and ignoring the plaintive bleating of his guards. "Then you'll be pleased to know that my soldiers have already begun repurposing Theramore Isle for military operations against the Horde."

Chuckling, Proudmoore turned to face him. "Actually, they've hit a bit of a snare. All of your people on Theramore, all of the boats and troops and support personnel…I teleported them all to the Exodar. I was serious when I said that Theramore is mine, and that it is neutral."

"You want to be beaten into submission again?"

"I pulled Theramore's marines back and went easy on your troops because I've no desire to see anyone die." Proudmoore stepped up to Wrynn's throne and leaned down at him. "But I'm telling you what I'm going to tell the warchief. If you come for peace, Theramore is neutral ground. If you come for war, then the Light help you. I won't." Wrynn watched her warily, but remained silent. "Someday, _someday_ we'll be able to have negotiations between the Alliance and the Horde. And when that happens, Theramore will be ready."

*

Garrosh Hellscream stood in Grommash Hold, bound in no irons or chains but with his head bowed in submission.   
"You used me."

"Y' t'ink, mon?" Vol'jin stood with Saurfang, watching the young orc. Judging him.

"Lady Proudmoore is needed where she is," Thrall rumbled from his throne. "If the Alliance needs to see her as being…removed…from our favor, then they will."

"I am outmaneuvered," Hellscream said.

"And?" Saurfang demanded. Hellscream frowned, staring at his feet.

Vol'jin coughed. "Dere be more t' leadin' den who you c'n beat into line."

"Of course. Thank you for your wisdom," Hellscream mumbled. "I'll…I will return now to Northrend. To carry out your will, Warchief."

"Garrosh."

Hellscream turned, and was driven to his knees by a shock of absolute cold. He choked as the very air in his lungs froze. Thrall rose from his throne and to stand over the young orc, wisps of frost sublimating from his hands.  
"I did not come to power because I could kill or dominate. I came to power because I've worked tirelessly for the betterment of all our peoples. You are still alive because I believe you can be of great value to the Horde." A static charge filled the air. "That said, Lady Proudmoore is of unspeakable importance, both to the Horde and to me personally. If you ever assault her person again…" A blast of lightening blinded the interior of the hold and Hellscream found himself flat on his back, the scent of his own burnt flesh filling his nostrils and his ears ringing from the accompanying thunder. He growled, his rage loosening, but before he could struggle to his feet, the massive blade of Saurfang's axe was driven into the floor beside his head. "…then you will not live out the day."

*

Proudmoore sighed and snuggled into Thrall's side. Despite her nudity and the habitual lack of sheets in the orc's bedroom, she wasn't cold at all; her intellectual mind concluded it had to do with her lover's connection to the animistic elements before she deliberately pushed logic and reason aside. Thrall turned toward her, and together they found a position that offered as much skin-to-skin contact as possible. She reached up to kiss his lips tenderly; such intimacy was difficult given his tusks, but they managed.

"You're not well," Thrall intoned.

"I've been better." Jaina snuggled into her lover. "We lost ground here, Thrall."

The orc nodded. "Wrynn has poisoned the Alliance leaders against you and your pleas for peace talks. You recovered well, though." Jaina shook her head, and Thrall continued, trying to convince her, "Even if they aren't willing to listen to you, you still ensured that you and Theramore will be around when the time comes."

Jaina frowned. "It's worse now."

Thrall shifted to look down at her. "Ready to give up?"

She smiled faintly. "Never."


End file.
